The Calm Before the Storm
by VenusAmorette
Summary: Prequel to my other stories; backstory of Dr. Richtofen. A collection of the happiest moments in Edward Richtofen's life ... and what brought them to a chilling end. Peek into the Doctor's childhood, and see what twisted him in the first place. Richtofen/Clara, an OC referred to in my story "Between Dream and Reality". Fluffy, romantic, and bittersweet, rated for future content.
1. Understanding

**To those of you that are reading:**

Welcome to my promised tale of Edward Richtofen's past! c:

Hopefully in this story I'll be able to shed a little light on the way I picture his character, including his twisted world-view.

I hope you enjoy the way I portray his childhood, bittersweet though it may be ... and I hope you stick around to read the whole story!

(Some of you might recognize half of this chapter ... ;D)

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Edward likes to see how things work. It gets him into trouble.

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**The Calm Before the Storm**  
Die Ruhe vor dem Sturm**  
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CHAPTER ONE

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**Understanding**  
Verständnis

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"Mama, mama!" whined Minna, running into the kitchen.

Tears were streaming down her face, making her blonde curls stick to her cheeks.

Therese wiped her long fingers on her apron, frowning down at her youngest child. "What is it, Wilhelmina?" she asked, her bright green eyes tired. "I must finish supper before your papa gets home, or he will be very angry with me. I hope this is important." She was stretched thin. Between pleasing her overbearing husband and raising her children, life was a constant struggle.

Little Minna held out a crushed Matryoshka doll, sniffling. "Edward ruined it!" she sobbed, her long blonde eyelashes clumped with tears. "He ruined it!"

Therese sighed. She was already exhausted, and she knew he wouldn't understand what he'd done. But she called him in anyway. "Edward!" Her voice was hoarse. "Edward, come here!"

Someone made an exasperated noise in the hallway, edging out into view.

It was a boy, aged six, tall for his age and skinny as a rail. He pouted as he walked into the kitchen.

Therese looked drained as she stepped over to him, kneeling her long body down to his level. She met his eyes, green just like hers, and cleared her throat. "Now Edward," she began, the same old trope. "What did I tell you about your sister's toys?"

He looked bored. "Minna's toys are not for breaking," he mumbled. It sounded like he'd said it many times before.

"That's right," said Therese, grabbing his shoulders. He looked at her and sighed.

"But Mama, I don't _understand," _he moaned. "I've already taken all of _my_ toys apart."

Therese stroked her hands up into her son's thick, golden hair, combing it between her fingers. "My sweet boy," she murmured, "I know it's difficult. But you're not like everyone else," she said consolingly. "Minna is like the other girls and boys; she wants to keep her toys the way they are. She doesn't need to know how they work."

Edward huffed. "But _why?_ Why doesn't she want to know?"

A lock of dark blonde hair fell into Therese's face, and she brushed it back. "Not everyone is as curious as you are, Edward," she explained, cupping his soft little cheeks in her hands. "So when you break other's toys, _they_ don't understand, and it hurts their feelings."

He was frowning. "It wouldn't hurt _my_ feelings if someone took _my _toy apart," he grumbled. "I would help them."

Therese sighed. "One day, my boy," she murmured. "One day you will understand." She kissed him on the forehead. "Go play outside and look at the pretty flowers. Maybe you can figure out what makes _them_ work." She gave him a little nudge and he ran out the door, consumed with a new objective.

It was a bright, colorful day. The grass was green and cool under his feet; the sun was warm on his face. Even the clouds were fluffy and white, making such _interesting_ shapes. He smiled up at them.

His mother kept a small garden behind their house, but there was an even bigger, _better_ garden across the field, at Herr Blumenthal's. That's where the big boys Fritz and Imre lived; the boys that Edward's father wanted him to play with. But Edward liked being alone. He could think better when he was alone.

Something floated by him in the air, catching his attention.

It was a butterfly, lovely and delicate.

He chased it.

Across the field he ran, straight for Blumenthal's farm. And at the big, beautiful garden, the butterfly landed on a flower. He stepped up close, leaning over to observe. It was even more intricate than he thought. So many colors and shapes; he squinted down at the complicated patterns, reaching out a finger to touch.

The butterfly flitted off.

He frowned, resuming the chase.

This time, when it landed, he snuck up slowly, lifting one of his hands. He was an expert at catching things, and this butterfly would be no exception. In an instant, he'd snatched it. It struggled between his fingers, shaking colorful dust onto his skin, and he tried to hold it still. He couldn't see anything with it fluttering so fast.

Suddenly, one of the delicate wings broke off into his palm, and he gasped, holding it up to his face. The butterfly struggled off of his hand, landing on the ground; but he paid no attention to that. He was much more interested in all the fluorescent colors, the hundreds of fragile veins, all of them weaving across the film of the wing.

It was more beautiful than art.

He squinted at the glittering scales on his skin, smudged like fairy dust.

Then somebody gasped.

He looked up.

A pretty girl in a white dress stood by the garden, staring at him. "Why did you do that?" she asked, and he could hear the pain in her voice. Her bottom lip wobbled. "Why did you hurt it?"

Edward frowned. "I just wanted to look at it," he said. "It wouldn't stay still."

The girl pouted and ran over to kneel at his feet, picking up the one-winged butterfly. "But now it's dying," she murmured. It crawled weakly across her small hand. Her eyebrows bunched together and she cupped her palm as she stood up, keeping it safe. Then she plucked a flower and placed it inside, next to the butterfly.

Edward frowned. "It's just one butterfly," he said.

She turned to face him with angry black eyes. "Wait here," she commanded. Then she ran off.

He stood there, shuffling between his feet and frowning. This was stupid. He didn't even want to look at the wing anymore. He put it on the ground and wiped his hands off on his Lederhosen, bored and annoyed. He'd just decided to leave when the girl returned.

Edward noticed the butterfly was gone.

"Mama's taking care of it," the girl explained. "Now come with me."

She grabbed his arm and dragged him along.

"Where are we going?" he complained.

"You'll see," she said.

They crossed the field, behind Blumenthal's farm. Then they stepped through a thorny old hedge. Edward could feel the branches catching at his skin, and he grit his teeth, wondering if he should hate this girl. But when they finally pushed through the grasping leaves, he had to catch his breath.

It was a meadow. A glorious meadow. Flowers of every color blossomed all around them in great big clusters. His mouth gaped open, and he walked along the hedge, feeling his heart start to pound. Vines with sweet-smelling leaves tickled his nose. Dewdrops sprinkled his feet. There were so many things to see, to smell, to taste. His head was spinning.

"Look," the girl said, pointing to the sky.

He looked up, smoothing the hair out of his eyes.

He'd never seen so many butterflies. They fluttered overhead, dozens of them, flitting from flower to flower. Their wings glittered in the bright sunlight. And the _colors. _More colors than he could've ever imagined. He squinted at the beauty of them, overwhelmed.

He turned back to the girl.

"What's your name?" he asked, mystified.

"Clara," she said, smiling. "You?"

"I'm Edward," he said.

She laughed. "Edward. I like that name." Then she looked back up at the sky, spreading her arms and twirling. The skirt of her dress billowed out like the petals of a big white flower, and she smiled.

"See how happy they are, Edward?" she giggled. Her eyes glittered. "They're so happy to be alive."

He looked up at the fluttering butterflies. They were like flowers in the sky.

"They're happy to be alive?" he asked, confused. Could butterflies _be_ happy?

She grabbed his arm. "Of course! Now twirl with me." And they twirled. The world around them was a whirlwind of color, rushing flowers, sparkling sunlight. A wonderful rush of happiness overwhelmed him, and he laughed, giddy.

They fell to the sweet, warm grass, giggling.

"Aren't you happy to be alive?" she asked, her voice soft.

He smiled at her, nodding.

She took a deep, joyful breath, watching the butterflies. "Me, too. Just like them." She sighed. Then she turned her sparkling black eyes to look at him. "Do you understand now?"

He looked at his hands, folding them in his lap. "I'm sorry," he murmured, feeling a twinge of guilt. "I didn't know I was hurting it."

She threw her arms around his neck. "It's okay," she said, hugging him tight. And then she scooted back, grabbing his wrist. "My mama ties a string around my finger to help me remember things sometimes," she said, and she reached back to pull something out of her hair. It was a long blue ribbon. A mass of sleek black curls fell down around her shoulders, and she giggled. "Here," she said, putting his wrist into her lap. She tied the ribbon around it. "This will help you remember."

He lifted his arm and looked at the big blue bow, frowning.

She giggled. "I like it. It's pretty." Then she grabbed his hand, holding it in both of hers. "I want it to be our friendship bracelet," she announced, looking at him with big eyes. "That means we'll be friends forever. Do you want to be friends forever?" Her eyes flickered between his, eager and gentle.

He nodded quickly. "Yes," he said, breathless.

And he meant it with all his heart.

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Well, we're off to a start! c:

I'd love to hear what you think so far, and what you think should happen next!

I can speak from experience that the more reviews I get, the more ideas I have, and the faster I update! :3

So please, leave me your two cents!

Comments, questions, suggestions? I love your glorious words!  
**Your reviews are what keep me going and inspire me to write!**


	2. Resentment

**To those of you that are reading:**

As always, I'm so happy that you're here, and I can't wait to keep telling this story for you guys!

I'm still forming it in my mind in terms of plot/length, so advice would be much appreciated ... as well as ideas!

Are there things you guys want me to write? Things you're especially curious about in terms of Richtofen's childhood, etc.? Let me know!

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**WickedIntentions:** I'm SO looking forward to your commentary as I continue this story. You're such an inspiration! C: Hearing such high praise from you really means a lot, and as always, I hope I can continue to live up to expectations. *kisses* It's been super enjoyable to think about Richtofen as a kid; how did his mind work when it was at its (arguably) "purest" state? So I'm examining that as well as what happens to twist him… slowly. As far as the sequence: I'm still working that out. XD I suppose we'll see where it goes … I'm sure you'll encourage me along the way! :3 Thank you as always, my dearest.

** M3D1C101:** YOUR EXCITEMENT … IT IS SO DELICIOUS!

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**For reference:** In my headcanon, Edward was born in 1907, so in this chapter, the year is 1913 (aka right before the start of WWI).

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We get a glimpse of Edward's family life.

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**The Calm Before the Storm**  
Die Ruhe vor dem Sturm**  
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CHAPTER TWO

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**Resentment  
**Groll

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Edward ran home, eager to tell his mother everything.

He could smell his favorite dinner wafting through the open windows: Schnitzel and asparagus, and plum cake in the oven. Maybe his mother had made her delicious pea-and-potato casserole, too. He bounded through the kitchen door, almost trampling Minna.

"Edward," scolded Therese, frowning down at him. "Be careful."

"Mama," he gasped. "I've just learned so many things!"

Therese dampened her apron with some water, kneeling down next to her son. She wiped off his face and neck, glancing down at his fists. "What is this you have all over your hands?" she asked, grabbing them and spreading out his fingers.

It was the butterfly dust. He shook his head. "I was looking at a butterfly," he said dismissively. That wasn't the important part. The important part was Clara.

Therese sighed heavily. "Edward," she said firmly, scowling. "I told you not to hurt animals anymore."

"I didn't _mean_ to," he whined. "I wanted to _look_ and it wouldn't stay still."

She shook her head, wiping off his hands. "I need you to wash up before your father gets in," she muttered. "I can't have him seeing you like this."

Edward groaned. "Mama, let me tell you the important thing," he grumbled.

"And what's that?" she asked distractedly, twisting her apron between his fingers.

"I met a girl," he said, his voice reverent.

His mother raised her eyebrows, interested. "I see," she said, openly pleased at the respect in his voice. "And what was she like?"

"Wonderful," Edward murmured. "Like a princess."

Therese looked into her son's face, daring to hope. "It sounds like you got along with her," she said softly.

He nodded. "We're friends," he announced proudly.

His mother looked relieved. "Very good, Edward. I'm proud of you," she murmured, smiling. She stroked his cheek. "What's this girl's name?"

He spoke it like a prayer. "Clara."

"Clara?" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Siegmund Blumenthal's daughter?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled. Just Clara was good enough for him.

At that moment, Wilhelm Richtofen loomed in through the kitchen door.

Tall and imposing, the patriarch of the family was a broad-shouldered, handsome man with dark bronze hair and fierce blue eyes. The air seemed colder as he walked into the room, looking down at them all from his high, fine cheekbones. Therese stumbled quickly to her feet, brushing past Edward to take her husband's jacket.

"Dinner smells fine tonight, Therese," murmured Wilhelm, his voice low and booming. Edward shivered at the sound of it, retreating to a corner of the room as his father shrugged his heavy coat into Therese's willing arms. She hung it on a rack by the door.

"I've made the potato casserole you love," she said submissively, bustling back over to the oven. "And plum cake for dessert."

Herr Richtofen was silent as he crossed over to his chair, sitting down with a sigh. He glanced at Minna. She was playing with a doll in the middle of the floor. He frowned. "What is my daughter doing on the kitchen floor?" he asked, his eyes glinting with anger. He glared at his wife. "It is a dangerous place for a child."

Downcast, Therese rushed over to scoop up the toddler, carrying her across to the parlor.

"And Edward," Wilhelm grumbled. "Where is Edward?"

The boy in question inched out from the corner, keeping his eyes on the floor.

His father grunted. "Come here," he ordered.

Edward shuddered, stepping closer.

"Look at this filth," growled Wilhelm, grabbing his son by the front of his shirt. Edward gasped as his father tugged him close, pushing down his head to examine the back of his neck. His eyes flashed. "Therese," he thundered. "Did I not tell you to have him wash up before coming to dinner?"

Her voice was timid. "You came in the door just as I-"

"I believe he should be punished for this," Wilhelm interrupted, and Edward whimpered.

"No Papa, please," he begged. "I can wash up now."

"Don't punish him," added Therese, desperate. "I told him to go outside and play."

Wilhelm turned his anger on her, narrowing his eyes. "And why would you do that?"

She wrung her hands. "I thought it would be good for him to get some fresh air," she murmured, keeping her voice smooth and calm. "He was in one of his inquisitive moods, so I told him to go study the pretty flowers."

"_Inquisitive moods,"_ scoffed Wilhelm. "Isn't he always in an _inquisitive mood?"_

"I suppose so," Therese said quietly. "But that means he will do very well in school." Her eyes gleamed with hope. "Perhaps even well enough to go to preparatory."

Wilhelm grunted, releasing his son. "Go wash," he commanded, and Edward scurried off. Then Wilhelm turned to his wife, his eyes cold and dangerous. "Therese," he growled. "You know very well I plan for him to apprentice at the shop." His voice was low and threatening. "Don't go giving him _ideas._ He has enough of those already."

Silently, Therese set the table. She brought out the schnitzel and asparagus, setting it next to the casserole. Then she placed a tray of cured meats and cheese in front of her husband, who tucked his napkin into his collar and immediately began to eat.

When Edward returned, Therese was preparing him a child-sized portion of food. He came to sit next to her at the table. Her eyes were warm as she handed him his plate, kissing his forehead. "You look so clean and handsome," she said, smiling and ruffling his hair. He blushed with pleasure. Then Therese walked over to the parlor to fetch Minna.

She brought her back to the table to sit in her lap, where she could feed her little bits from her plate.

Herr Richtofen made a noise of pleasure. "This schnitzel is fantastic," he said approvingly.

Therese basked in the rare compliment.

"Thank you, darling," she murmured, giving him her loveliest smile. It was stunning. In an instant, her careworn face was transformed, and a beautiful young woman shone through. It was the maiden Therese; the pretty, carefree woman she'd been before the trials of her marriage.

Wilhelm looked at her for a moment. Something akin to admiration flashed across his face. But it was gone in a moment, replaced by stoniness.

"Mama," Edward whispered, leaning close to her. "Will you cut my asparagus?"

She grinned, reaching over with her knife. "Of course my angel," she whispered back.

"Any son of mine should say please and thank you," Wilhelm grumbled, missing nothing.

Edward glanced at him in terror. "Please?" he added, his voice small.

Hiding her face from her husband, Therese gave him a comforting look, continuing to cut his food.

"Thought there was going to be a disaster at the shop today," Herr Richtofen announced, moving along.

"Oh?" Therese asked politely, glancing at him. Her brows bunched together. "Hopefully nothing violent."

He chuckled. "No, nothing quite so exciting," he muttered, as though he was disappointed. "Herr Fassbinder never delivered his beef for the slaughter. Delayed it. Again." Wilhelm shook his head. "That's the last time I'm ordering from him. His meat may be top, but he's unreliable."

Graciously, Therese made a worried expression. "How did the shop fare without fresh beef?"

"Luckily, Herr Blumenthal came to my rescue," he murmured. "Happened to be in town just after I got Fassbinder's telegram. Siegmund saw I was in a state, asked if he could help, and found a cattle trader he knew. Within the hour, he'd cut me a _fantastic_ deal. And so _quickly_." He looked amazed at this concept, raising his fine dark eyebrows. "Who would've thought."

"The Blumenthals are a lovely family," provided Therese. "You're always admiring Fritz and Imre."

Wilhelm grunted. "They are fine boys," he conceded.

"Then why do you sound so surprised at his good deed?" she asked sweetly, gently curious. "Siegmund is a fine man."

"He's a Jew," Wilhelm muttered. "Fine man or not."

"Oh, darling," Therese said, a hint of anger breaking through her careful facade. "I've known Siegmund since I was a girl. He's from a very respectable family."

"Some of the most 'respectable' Jewish families still turn out to be usurers and cheats," Wilhelm growled. "In my years as a butcher, even as an apprentice under my father, I've met some of the lowest scum on earth. Most of them Jews, cutting false loans and never making good on their promises." He gave an angry sigh, rubbing his temples.

Therese worked hard to keep calm. She wanted to lecture him on judgment, especially since her children were present. But by now, she knew better. "My Wil," she murmured instead, using the affectionate name from their courtship, "Surely you won't let those experiences taint your knowledge of _Herr Blumenthal_. We've been neighbors for the whole of our marriage."

Wilhelm was quiet, considering. "Siegmund came through for me today," he admitted. "That is true. And as long as I live, I will never forget it. But his good deed cannot make me forget the deeds of his kin."

"Well," said Therese, accepting her small victory. "Siegmund is a fine man, and I'm glad he came through for you. It doesn't surprise me at all."

He grunted. "Edward," he snapped. The boy jumped. "Sit up straight when you are at the table."

Edward stretched up his long little body, trembling.

"You scare him when you snap at him like that," murmured Therese. "He does better with gentle urging."

Wlihelm glared at his wife. "Do not undermine me, Therese," he growled.

She was quiet.

Everyone ate in silence for a while, until Wilhelm spoke again.

"I've always wondered why Frieda Engel married Siegmund," he murmured, thoughtful.

"She fell in love," Therese said softly, looking at her husband with sad eyes. "That's why people marry."

Wilhelm didn't notice. He was lost in thought. "Remember how beautiful she was?" he said, rubbing his chin. "With black hair and black eyes. One of the most beautiful girls in town." He looked at Therese for a moment. "You were, too," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Of course I remember," said Therese, trying not to look annoyed. Before courting Therese, he'd chased Frieda for ages. It was common knowledge.

He chuckled. "The two of you were thick as thieves, teasing us all."

Therese sighed. She'd never say it out loud, least of all to her husband; but she'd always been jealous of Frieda. Admiring, and jealous. And every time he spoke of her was a blow to her soul. "Siegmund is a good match for her," she muttered. "Calm and gentle. She needed someone to calm her."

Wilhelm gave her an odd look. "I thought Siegmund may have had an eye for you at one time," he murmured.

"He did," she acknowledged, blushing.

She saw a wave of jealousy cross his face, and it made her heart soar. "You both were too beautiful for him," he growled. "Still are. He's a lucky man to have won Frieda. She's a fine wife. Beautiful, always doting." He shook his head.

Therese's heart fell back down. "I've given her a lot of advice on huswifery," she murmured, fighting for her honor. And it was true. Growing up, Frieda was a worldly girl from a wealthy family. She'd never learned how to be a proper wife, not like Therese. And when Frieda fell in love and found herself with two growing boys and a newborn daughter, she'd turned to Therese in confusion.

Her husband was looking at her thoughtfully. "You make a comfortable home for me," he said. It was a small consolation after the warm words of praise for Frieda Blumenthal. But the flash of affection that blinked through his blue eyes made her heart pound again.

"I try very hard," she whispered, trying to keep back the tears.

She got to her feet to distract herself, carrying Minna into the parlor. Then she cleared the empty plates from the table, taking them to the washbasin.

Edward slipped from his chair in silence, eager to get away from his father, but his heart ached with pity for his mother. He could see the pain in her face. He wanted to go to her, to tell her she was a wonderful wife, a beautiful mother. He wanted to promise never to break another toy, never to hurt another animal. They would be false promises, but he wanted to promise them nevertheless.

Herr Richtofen stood from his chair, seeming to fill up the kitchen. He walked over to Therese, slipping his arms around her waist. Edward watched as his father leaned over and whispered something into his mother's ear, making her shiver. Then he kissed her cheek and turned to walk down the hall.

As he passed by Edward, he glared down at him, threatening. "You better be washed before dinner tomorrow," he growled.

Edward looked at the floor. "Yes, Papa," he whimpered.

Wilhelm grunted and continued over to Minna, scooping her up. She giggled as he twirled her through the hair. Her curls made a golden halo around her round little face, and he kissed her warmly on both of her cheeks. "Sleep well, my girl," he said, in the tender voice he saved only for her. Then he put her back down and continued to the bedroom, where he'd stay until the morning.

Now, Edward's mother was scouring the plates quickly, eager to be finished. It was his chance to tell her how much he loved her, how dear she was to him, even if they didn't always understand each other. He tiptoed across the floor, tugging on her skirt.

She glanced down at him distractedly. "Not now," she muttered, impatient.

Edward frowned. This happened every time his father whispered in her ear. She became distracted by something, something that changed her. Mama was a sweet, gentle lady, always reading Edward and Minna a bedtime story, kissing them goodnight. But whenever Papa whispered in her ear, she made them all rush to bed as quickly as possible.

Edward hated his father for doing this. Partly because it meant no bedtime story, and partly because it made his mother behave so strangely. But mostly because his father was so cruel to his mother, making her cry and hurt all the time. And then with something as simple as a whisper, he had the power to make her forget all the pain and run to him.

He tugged on her skirt again, more insistently. "I want to tell you something important," he said, his voice urgent.

Her eyebrows bunched and she looked at him again, distressed.

He was her beloved son. Looking into his angel face made her heart swell with joy. But the chance to feel her husband's love, to try to make him adore her again; it was a false hope that drove her into a frenzy. Every time he invited her to bed, she hoped she could enchant him; and every time, it failed. But her hope never faltered.

Tense, she stared down into Edward's beautiful green eyes, her heart aching. "What is it, my love?" she asked, ashamed that she could only give him half of her attention.

He wrapped his arms around her legs, hiding his face in her skirt. "Don't listen to him," he said, his voice muffled.

"What?" she asked, frowning. She put down the pot she was scouring and knelt down, pulling him back to look at him. She glanced toward the bedroom.

"Don't listen to Papa," Edward said again, a whisper this time.

That got her attention. She looked at him in confusion. "Honey…"

His eyes were fierce, glinting up at her. "You are the best," he whispered. "You are the _most_ beautiful. The best, most _beautiful _mother," he hissed. "Don't let him make you cry."

Her heart shuddered and she stared at her boy, horrified at his profound insight. "Dearest," she murmured, shaken again by the mind of her child, "Papa doesn't make me cry." She was trying to bluff, trying the age-old method of mothers hiding the truth from their children.

"Yes he does," Edward said quickly, confident. "I see it."

"Edward," she said soothingly. "Being a grown-up is hard. Things aren't always perfect."

"_You're_ perfect," he said adoringly, looking deep into her eyes. "And you shouldn't let him hurt you."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she gathered him to her chest, holding him tight. "My beautiful boy," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "I pray that you love me like this forever." Then she pulled back to look at him again, brushing back his hair. "Don't worry about me, _liebling_," she murmured, stroking his head. "You worry about growing up."

His face crumpled. "But he _hurts_ you," he hissed, the pain of the knowledge twisting his face. "Why do you listen to him?"

She kissed it away. "Edward, I must listen to your Papa because he takes care of us. We need him to take care of us." She sighed, glancing toward the bedroom, and the impatience returned to her eyes. "I must finish washing the dishes and get your sister to bed," she murmured, standing.

"I don't understand," Edward whispered, feeling tears come to his eyes, too.

"Not all things can be understood," said his mother. "Now get to bed, my love. I'll be in to give you a kiss."

Edward left for his room, walking slowly down the hall.

His mind was writhing with thoughts. Angry thoughts. _Why_ must she listen to Papa? _Why_ must Papa take care of them? Why couldn't they take care of themselves? He was always gone at the butcher shop. They spent every day without him. It made him furious to think that they _needed_ him, that they somehow _needed _this horrible, cruel person to survive.

He'd figure out how to survive on his own.

And then there was the worst question. _Why_ couldn't everything be understood?

As Edward dressed in his bedclothes, he frowned against that thought.

No. There must be a way. Usually, if he thought about things hard enough, he understood them. So he wouldn't stop thinking until he figured everything out.

And then, when he had all the answers, he could finally save her.

He'd save his mother, and she'd never cry again.

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So we get a little insight into baby Edward's motivations ... and the beginnings of his adult motivations ...

(Did anyone catch the game quote? :D)

Thoughts? Commentary? I can't wait to hear what you think!

And as I said above: Please let me in on your ideas for this story. I'd be more than happy to write what you want to read!

Since this is more or less open-ended in terms of timeline/length/sequence, I'm totally open to suggestions/things you're curious about.

What do you want to know about little Richtofen? About his family? About Clara and her family? I'll be happy to provide!

Comments, questions, suggestions? I love your glorious words!  
**Your reviews are what keep me going and inspire me to write!**


	3. Adventures

**To those of you that are reading:**

Yayyyyyyy new chapter!

Can't wait to hear what you guys think/your thoughts and ideas!

Hope you enjoy a little adorable child fluff! c:

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**NameUnimportant:** It's 1913, right before WWI. Technically, anti-semitic sentiment was widespread in many areas long before the atrocious hatred of the Nazi Party. It was just general feelings of ill-will, like: Jews will cheat you, Jews are no good, etc. etc. They were considered liars and cheats in many areas in Europe, including Germany; but no one hated them to the extent of the horrible things that happened under Hitler's command. Two: I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVE THIS STORY! :'3 I can't wait to keep writing it! Three: Yeah … There's gonna be some headbutting … it's certainly gonna be interesting, I'll tell you that … And four: THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THIS. I'm a firm believer that we're the products of our upbringing, even if we do try to overcome the bad patterns/habits we saw our parents struggle with. Edward is a twisted person even before he touches the M.P.D., and I wanted to establish that he's got an unstable mental/emotional foundation (even before anything horrible happens to Clara). As such, he's unconsciously repeating the patterns he was raised with… D: I hope you keep reading, because it looks like you are a very discerning and insightful reader! C:

** WickedIntentions:** Hahaha … yeah … He's supposed to be one of those supremely gorgeous yet rather horrible people (otherwise, why would Therese put up with him?) … and controlling and domineering to the extreme … if you've got a thing for that, it makes him irresistible! X'3 … (And obviously Therese isn't pushing him away when he invites her to bed … *cough*). I'm honestly so pleased that you like my depiction of his family life. Don't worry; we'll see plenty more. I love Daddy Wilhelm … and I love Mama Therese … and … honestly … their dynamic is really interesting to write. I'm just speechless at your kindness toward my descriptions and the way I portray them; it makes me feel like I'm doing something right! C: I agree so much about parents being some of the greatest influences in our lives… Part of me wants to get BDaR finished asap so I can focus on this story, and get into the meat (so I can show you how everything started going wrong!) … but for now: FLUFF! :3

**Guest:** Of course… I'm certainly trying to show the instability of his mind. However, I must warn you: I personally don't believe that Edward was quite as sociopathic before he touched the M.P.D. ... Sure, I believe that he has a lot of issues, even as a child; and I'll certainly be portraying that. So don't worry! I don't think he's evil, though; not before the pyramid device influences him.

**DancingInTheSand:** Daddy Wilhelm is indeed a terrible creature of shadowy threat … but … … SO HANDSOME … D: … … Luckily, we have little Clara and Edward fluff to deflect the horrors of Herr Richtofen! I SHIP THEM TOO! (OBVIOUSLY). You're gonna love this chapter … XD

**M3D1C101:** OF COURSE! C: It was my pleasure! Hope you enjoy this chapter! :3

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**For reference:** In my headcanon, Edward was born in 1907, so in this chapter, the year is 1913 (aka right before the start of WWI).

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Edward goes to visit Clara.

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**The Calm Before the Storm**  
Die Ruhe vor dem Sturm**  
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CHAPTER THREE

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**Adventures  
**Abenteuern

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It was mid-morning, and Frieda Blumenthal was busy making a pie for supper.

That's when a tiny knock sounded through the kitchen. She wiped off her flour-dusted hands with her apron, walking over to open the garden door. Little Edward Richtofen, Wilhelm's boy, was standing on the front step, looking up at her with wide green eyes. "Frau Blumenthal," he murmured, sounding a little nervous. "Do you have a daughter named Clara?"

She smiled warmly. "Good morning Edward," Frieda said in her husky voice, ruffling his hair. Then she turned back into the house. "Clara!" she yelled. "Edward Richtofen has come to see you!"

There was a great stumbling in the hall and Clara tripped out into view, wearing one shoe and carrying the other. "Edward!" she cried, smiling widely.

He smiled back. "Good morning," he said, bashful.

Frieda grinned down at him. "Come on inside, _Schätzchen,"_ she said, reaching her arm around his shoulders to nudge him through the door. He avoided her hand and stepped quickly into the kitchen, shy of being touched. She shook her head. "I'm not going to bite you," she said, chuckling.

"I know," he muttered. He stared up at her for a moment. "You _are_ pretty," he noted.

She hooked a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. "Well, well," she said, smirking. "Looks like we've got a little charmer on our hands."

Clara was sitting on the kitchen floor, putting on her other shoe. She rolled her eyes. "Edward's not being _charming,"_ she said, exasperated. "He just _says_ things."

"Only the truth," he said defensively. "I always tell the truth."

Frieda laughed. It was a throaty, earthy sound that warmed the room. "Well, if the truth's that sweet," she chuckled, "I hope you keep telling it."

Now that her shoe was on, Clara jumped up, walking over to the counter. She stretched up to fetch a little thimble filled with water. "Mama, will you put in the sugar?" she asked, holding it out. Frieda smiled, walking over and opening a sugar jar. She pinched out a little dash of it, sprinkling it into the thimble.

"What's that for?" asked Edward, genuinely curious.

Clara looked at him as though it should be obvious. "The butterfly," she said, giving him a sassy look.

He blushed. "Oh."

"Clara has it in the living room," explained Frieda. "She's made him a little home and everything."

"We don't know if it's a boy, really," added Clara, making sure the facts were straight. "I just wanted to name him Papillon. That's French for butterfly."

She grabbed Edward's arm and dragged him to the other room to look at Papillon, who was living in a little wooden box. "Papa made this for me," she said proudly. She'd filled it with soft clippings of grass and leaves, and there were beautiful plucked flowers arranged along the edges. Papillon himself was wandering one-winged on one of the flowers, sticking out his long black tongue to take a sip of nectar.

"You know what that's called, don't you?" murmured Edward, pointing to Papillon's tongue.

Clara nodded. "Yes," she said, frowning. "A tongue, right?"

He shook his head, grinning. "Nope," he said. "It's a proboscis."

Her eyes widened. _"Proboscis."_ She tasted the sound of it, letting it roll through her mouth. "That's a funny word. I like it."

"How's Papillon doing?" called Frieda from the kitchen.

"He's doing well," Clara called back. "Drinking the flowers with his _proboscis."_

Frieda laughed. "Where'd you learn that word?" she asked.

"Edward just told me," said Clara.

Frieda walked into the room, grinning at him. "Well, Edward. Sounds like your mother meant it when she said you were sharp."

He pressed his lips together, blushing again.

Clara rolled her eyes. _"Mama,"_ she whined, hooking her arm around his stiff elbow. "You're _embarrassing _him."

"Sorry, sorry," said Frieda, walking back into the kitchen.

"I'm not embarrassed," mumbled Edward.

Clara put the thimble of sugar water into the center of Papillon's box. Then she wiped her hand on her skirt and grabbed Edward's hand. "Let's go outside and play," she said, dragging him back through the kitchen. "Mama, we're going outside," she announced, and Frieda chuckled as she watched her headstrong daughter drag out the little Richtofen boy.

"Looks like she _does _take after me," she said thoughtfully, shaking her head. "God bless her."

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"Where is my first in command?" asked Clara, making her voice deep. "The dragon is coming!"

Edward came bursting out of a hedge, wielding a large stick. "Here I am, _Mein Führer!"_ he cried, squinting dramatically up at the sky. His green eyes flashed. "Where is the foul beast?"

Clara ducked down, throwing herself to the ground. "He is attacking!" she shouted, scrambling away on her belly toward the bushes. "Hurry, _Kommandant;_ get to shelter!"

The two of them leapt away from the imaginary monster, hiding under a great leafy plant. For a moment, they took deep, gulping breaths, staring at each other in fear. Then, Clara lifted a finger to her lips. They grew silent. She crept up and pulled back a branch, peeking out to make sure the coast was clear. "Do you see him, Herr Edward?"

He leaned over her shoulder to take a peek himself. _"Nein, Mein Führer," _he whispered. "He's disappeared."

Clara set her jaw, stepping out of the bush. "He will return," she said, confident. "Mark my words, _Kommandant."_

"When he does, we shall be ready!" yelled Edward, leaping out. He brandished his stick.

Someone chuckled, and the kids turned to see an older boy walking up. He was dark-haired and handsome, with twinkling black eyes.

"Fritz!" cried Clara in her normal voice. She ran over to hug her brother. He ruffled her hair and she giggled. Now her ribbon was askew, so she pulled it out, skipping back over to Edward. "Here is a badge for your courage, Herr Edward," she said righteously, tying it in a bow around his neck.

"Fighting trolls?" asked Fritz, curious.

"Dragons," Edward clarified. He'd never seen Fritz up close before. He liked the look of him. And there was something altogether pleasing about his presence, like he radiated pure genuine _goodness._ Edward smiled. "Do you want to play with us?" he offered, feeling generous.

Fritz grinned back. "Sure," he said. "But I have to get back to apprentice with father soon."

Clara looked exultant. "Herr Fritz!" she cried, deepening her voice. "So glad you could make it to the battle!"

"You may have my sword," said Edward, reverent. He held out his stick.

Fritz accepted it with a look of awe. "Herr Edward," he murmured, turning wide black eyes to look at him. "I do not deserve this honor."

Edward closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Your valiance is known throughout the land," he declared. "I would not be the _Führer's Kommandant_ if not for your inspiration."

"Well," said Fritz, bowing low. "In that case, I accept your sword with dignity."

"Look out!" shouted Clara, running toward them with a look of terror. She shoved them back with both arms, and they stumbled away. She twirled around. Her grass-stained dress swirled around her knobby knees. "Back, monster!" she screamed at the sky. "You cannot take my men!"

Edward crawled on his hands and knees, fetching another stick. "_Mein Führer!_" he cried, leaping to Clara's side. "Don't put yourself in this danger!"

She held her hands out in front of her, and they shook. "My magic is fading," she gasped. Her face fell, and she looked weak. "We must retreat!"

"Quickly," shouted Fritz. "To the garden fortress!"

The three of them ran quickly across the grass, diving between the rows of Frieda's flowers. They cautiously picked their way through the garden, chancing quick glances behind them whenever they could. "Do you see the dragon?" asked Clara, nervously peering past a plant stalk. "The magic around us is making everything so blurry."

Fritz shook his head. "Not I. Herr Edward?"

"I can hear him behind us, but I can't see," he whispered, terrified. "Perhaps the magic will throw him off course."

Clara nodded, wide-eyed. "Good thinking, _Kommandant."_

They emerged on the other side of the garden. All three of them peeked up at the sky with nervous eyes.

A musical, tenor laugh carried over, shocking them out of their quest.

Edward spun around.

A broad man of middling-height approached. Though he was nowhere near as tall as Edward's father, his presence seemed even bigger; and it was gentle and calm, seeming to swell and fill the entire universe. He had shining grey eyes and a mess of curly, raven hair, which fluttered around his face as he walked; and even though he wore a simple farmer's uniform, he was one of the most amazing men Edward had ever seen.

When he smiled at them, the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Well," he said, his voice soft and agreeable. "Looks like my little magic _Führer _has an army."

Clara's happiness at seeing her brother was nothing compared to the sight of her father. She melted and stumbled over to him, making a sound of delight. "Papa!" she gasped, and he leaned down to catch her as she leapt into his arms. He hugged her up, kissing her loudly on the top of her head.

"Hello my _Liebste,_" he chuckled, setting her back down. He turned his pale eyes to look warmly at Edward, and smiled. "And this must be your Edward Richtofen," he noted, crossing over toward the boy. Edward trembled as Herr Blumenthal approached, unsure what to do. Were all fathers loving toward their daughters and harsh toward their sons? Would he be harsh to Edward?

Siegmund stretched out a calloused hand, holding it in front of the boy. Edward stared at it.

"Pleasure to meet you, Edward," murmured Herr Blumenthal, smiling his kind, eye-crinkly smile. "Siegmund Blumenthal."

Hesitant, Edward placed his hand into Siegmund's larger one, shaking stiffly. "Edward Richtofen," he murmured. He stared into Herr Blumenthal's eyes, unable to look away. The compassion that sparkled within them was overwhelming. He'd thought only his mother could feel that kind of tenderness. His mother, and Clara.

"You have such _gentle_ eyes," he said, amazed.

Siegmund grinned. "Thank you, Edward," he said softly. "I do try to be a gentleman."

"You seem like you are," murmured Edward. Nervous, he glanced over at Clara. She was gazing at him with a heartbreakingly sweet look in her eyes.

In an instant, she'd bounded over to his side and squeezed him tightly. "Oh, Edward," she said. "I'm _so _glad you like my Papa."

He blushed, staring at his feet.

Siegmund chuckled. "I hope you will join us for supper," he said, ruffling Edward's hair.

The boy flinched under Siegmund's hand, but when he realized the touch was nothing but pleasant, he hesitantly accepted it.

"I will have to tell my mother," he mumbled, looking up at Herr Blumenthal with tense green eyes.

Siegmund nodded. "Of course. I would go with you if I could," he said, smiling. "But Fritz and I must leave, unfortunately." He looked at his daughter. "Will you tell Frau Richtofen that I say hello?"

Clara's eyes gleamed with excitement. "You want me to go with Edward?" she asked, thrilled.

"Of course," said her father, winking. "He needs a good helper." He reached over and ran one of his big hands through her long black curls. Then he nodded to Fritz. "Come along, son," he said. "We've got work to do."

As Herr Blumenthal and his son started off across the farm, Clara twined her hand in Edward's.

"Let's go ask your mama if you can stay for dinner," she said conspiratorially.

And then she was dragging him back off through the flowers, making him flush with joy.

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**German:** _Schätzchen =_ **baby/honey/darling/sweety**; ___Mein Führer = _**my leader**;___Kommandant =_ **commander**;_____Liebste _= **sweetheart**

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YAY CLARA/EDWARD BABY FLUFF! ... c':

Thoughts? Commentary? I can't wait to hear what you think!

And as I've said before: Please let me in on your ideas for this story. I'd be more than happy to write what you want to read!

Since this is more or less open-ended in terms of timeline/length/sequence, I'm totally open to suggestions/things you're curious about.

Anything you want me to write about? Just let me know! :3

Comments, questions, suggestions? I love your glorious words!  
**Your reviews are what keep me going and inspire me to write!**


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